By Kim Waters
The bed slopes towards morning
and I hang on to the fringes
of a dream, waiting for the day
to unfurl like a leaf on the ground.
My mouth tastes of gunpowder
as I take my first moon-landed steps
into the cylindrical shower, where the
water drops float in shrapnel around me.
Making my breakfast, the Coco Puffs
try to seed themselves over the bench,
the coffee turns sullen and the
toast refuses to show up. Nothing,
but the ticking clock is keeping tabs.
And, as I walk out the front door,
armed with an iphone and car keys,
it seems like just another stubborn morning.
Image by: Bekah Russom